


Hangover

by TotallyUtterlySherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Non-Explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyUtterlySherlocked/pseuds/TotallyUtterlySherlocked
Summary: “We can’t keep doing this.”John doesn’t open his eyes when he murmurs this into the darkness of Sherlock’s room. He feels the detective’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t move.Then Sherlock’s voice comes, low and almost sad. “I know.” A beat of silence. There’s a rustle of noise, and suddenly John is left alone in Sherlock’s bed.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> I'm currently self-isolating due to COVID, and was listening to 'One More Night' by Maroon 5 when this story popped into my head. I intended it to be a one-shot, but apparently it had other ideas.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

John doesn’t open his eyes when he murmurs this into the darkness of Sherlock’s room. He feels the detective’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t move.

Then Sherlock’s voice comes, low and almost sad. “I know.” A beat of silence. There’s a rustle of noise, and suddenly John is left alone in Sherlock’s bed.

* * *

John wakes the next morning with his stomach churning. Guilt, he decides, is worse than any hangover. He taps at his phone and winces, immediately regretting his decision. Six missed calls from Mary and at least a dozen texts. He throws his phone onto the nightstand and presses his palms firmly into his eyes. “Fuck,” he whispers.

As always, he hadn’t intended for this to happen. He had gone on a case with Sherlock the night before and assured Mary he’d be back in plenty of time to put Rosie to bed. They’d solved the case after a harrowing dash across London and had just returned to Baker Street so John could collect his coat and bag as he’d come straight from work at the clinic. He’d made it as far as getting his hand on the doorknob when Sherlock came up from behind him and started nosing at his ear.

“Sherlock, I can’t,” he hissed through gritted teeth, struggling not to moan at the sensation.

“Tell her you’re still out,” rumbled Sherlock, warm breath blowing into John’s ear. “She wouldn’t question that.”

John turned around, planning on telling Sherlock ‘absolutely not, you git, we have to stop doing this, she’s my bloody wife and I have a fucking _daughter_ ’. He managed the first syllable, and then his eyes landed on Sherlock.

The detective’s pupils were huge, almost entirely eclipsing his irises. If John didn’t know better, he’d think Sherlock was off his tits. But John did know better, and that knowledge made him swallow hard. When he tried to speak, his voice was hoarse. “Sherlock, I can’t.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren’t true.

* * *

He wishes, now, that he could say he doesn’t remember everything they did that night. That would be yet another lie, and at this point he doesn’t even know how many lies he’s told. With more hesitance than a man calling his wife should feel, John pulls up Mary’s contact info and calls her. As soon as she answers, John can feel her rage. “How _dare_ you call me back,” she hisses through the receiver.

He’s done this before, and he knows it’s in his best interest not to respond until she runs out of steam. When she does, he suppresses a sigh, and asks, “Should I come home?”

There’s a pause, and he braces himself for another tirade. John is surprised when Mary’s voice answers, calmer and quieter than he’d ever heard it, though there’s still an undercurrent of rage there. “Fine, John. But you’re not coming for me. You are damn well coming home for _our daughter_.” 

When he can no longer stand the silence after Mary hangs up, he puts the phone back on the nightstand. He stands, collects his clothes from the floor where’d he’d left them the night before, and dresses, not realizing he’s grinding his teeth until his jaw aches when he makes his way to the sitting room.

There’s no sign of Sherlock here, and John is equal parts disappointed and relieved. He doesn’t think he could face the other man as he slinks home, like a dog with his tail between his legs. He pulls on his coat and is just about to walk out the door when he feels something small in one of his pockets. Frowning, he pulls it out, and he is almost immediately overtaken by anger. It’s just a note, he tells himself. He can throw it out, pretend he never saw it. John knows this is ridiculous; Sherlock will be able to figure out that he’d read the note _somehow_ , but at this point he just wants this whole thing between them to end. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Written on the scrap of paper that he’s already crumpled and stuffed back into his pocket are five simple words, in Sherlock’s neat cursive:

_You know what you want_.


	2. Bombshell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back folks! Sorry it's taken so long to upload; you'd think with nothing better to do all I'd be doing is writing, but unfortunately motivation is in short supply right now.

John arrives home uncertain to what he’ll find when he walks through the door. He expects Mary to fly into an almost immediate rage, or to ignore him entirely. Instead, when the door shuts behind him, Mary looks up from where she’s playing with Rosie on the floor of the sitting room and _smiles at him_. To say he’s unnerved would be putting it mildly.

“Welcome home, love,” she says, still smiling. She gives Rosie a quick peck on the forehead before standing and making her way over to him.

When she gets close enough, he can quickly see that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and the rage behind them sends chills down his back. Before he can ask what’s going on, Mary has a death grip on his elbow and whispers in his ear,

“I’m not going to fight with you in front of _our daughter_.”

And suddenly, John is exhausted. He thinks, not for the first time, of how tired he is of this constant back and forth, of Mary’s hot and cold style of conflict resolution. “Are we just going to pretend nothing happened?” He tries hard to keep the indifference out of his voice, but he can see by the way she stiffens that this was the wrong thing to say. Alarmingly, he finds he doesn’t really care.

He is saved from Mary’s response by Rosie’s face lighting up at the sight of him. “Daddy!” She holds her arms out to him, and he brushes by Mary to scoop her up.

“Hello, my Rosie-girl. Have you been a good girl for Mummy?” He kisses her cheek. This, John thinks, is the only reason for staying. His daughter is perhaps the only good thing to have come out of his otherwise ruined marriage. He knows if he leaves Mary will fight for full custody, and that it is more than likely she’ll win. He has considered asking Mycroft for help, but his pride always wins out.

Not for the first time in the last 24 hours, he wonders how he’s gotten himself into this situation, and unfortunately comes to the same conclusion: his life, his choices; all of his decisions, dating back to his initial decision to enlist in the military have led him here. Led him to a ruined marriage with a daughter he loves more than he ever thought possible.

Oh, not to mention an extramarital relationship with the best friend he’s been not-so-secretly in love with since the day they met.

He puts Rosie down and turns to Mary, preparing to ask her to let them deal with this now, instead of letting it fester, but she’s gone. He sighs, ready to go after her, when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, and when he reads the text, he snorts in spite of the anger rising in his belly.

_Is she angry? -SH_

He replies quickly, tapping at the keyboard with perhaps slightly more force than necessary.

_Do you mean ‘does she know we’re fucking’? Because in that case, she absolutely knows. Why am I doing this, Sherlock? -JW_

Sherlock’s reply comes seconds later.

_She knows you won’t leave. -SH_

John’s jaw ticks up and he barks out a bitter sounding laugh.

_You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve, Sherlock. I seem to recall you telling me that this is all because I chose her. What happened to that? -JW_

He starts to hope Sherlock will stop responding, because he’s afraid if this goes on much longer, he’s going to say something he’ll regret.

 _I never implied this was your_ fault _, John. You are an adrenaline junkie who is addicted to a life of danger; obviously, falling in love with an assassin is a natural progression. Mycroft will help you when you decide you want to leave, you know that. -SH_

John’s eyebrows practically meet his hairline. _When_ he decides to leave? He’s not sure what gave Sherlock this sudden burst of self-righteousness, but it’s pissing him right the hell off.

_Piss off, Sherlock. I’ve ruined enough of my life by myself, I’ll not let you allow me to ruin the only good things I have left. -JW_

He waits five minutes, but there’s no reply. He decides that now is as good a time as any to go and face the music, so he goes in search of Mary once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I read some comments on the first chapter that Sherlock is being awfully manipulative in this story and...well, all I'll say is Sherlock knows a little more about John than John likes to think he does.
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and healthy! Please leave a comment, and...
> 
> DFTBA darlings, :)


	3. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is left standing there again, face stoic.
> 
> Mary lets out a humorless laugh which sounds like nothing more than a forceful exhale. “The fact that you’re not arguing with that tells me more than anything that could come out of your mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD. I'm back at school and finally felt like writing something. This story has not been abandoned and I have one more chapter planned!

John finally finds her in his office. She’s standing behind his desk, facing towards the sparsely populated bookshelf. She doesn’t react when the door clicks shut behind him.

“I’m leaving, John.” Her voice is flat, and when she turns to look at him, her face is smooth as stone.

He inhales, once, sharply. “Rosie?” It’s a stupid way to respond, he knows, but she’s the first thing he thinks of.

When her face contorts into one of disgust, it takes everything in him to keep his cool. “I never wanted kids, John,” she says finally, schooling her expression into something empty once more. “She’ll be happier here. Safer.” Her eyes flash with something like apprehension.

“So we’re divorcing.” The words come out more easily than he expected them to.

She exhales. “Yes.”

He stands there, still, trying to figure out what else to say, but nothing comes to him.

Mary saves him by speaking again. “I know about you and Sherlock, John.”

John feels his stomach fill with acid. “What are you- “

He stops himself. “I’m sorry Mary.” It sounds lame, even to him.

Her face is blank. “You’re not,” Her tone brooks no argument.

Suddenly, John feels an almost unfathomable sadness for the domestic bliss he’s just lost. It mixes sickeningly with the overwhelming relief at the knowledge that he will have the life he’s wanted for years.

“You’ll tell Rosie?”

Mary’s voice pulls him out of his own head. He nods absently, taking a few minutes before he speaks, not trusting his voice.

“Yes. Of course I’ll tell Rosie. Thank you Mary.” He could kick himself for offering her gratitude, but right now it’s the only genuine emotion he feels comfortable expressing.

“Don’t,” Mary snaps, finally breaking out of the robotic trance she’s been in for this entire discussion. “I should be furious with you, right now, you understand? You’ve betrayed my trust, for years I’m assuming.”

John is left standing there again, face stoic.

Mary lets out a humorless laugh which sounds like nothing more than a forceful exhale. “The fact that you’re not arguing with that tells me more than anything that could come out of your mouth.”

* * *

John enters the sitting room, heart simultaneously heavy and light. He finds Rosie on the floor playing with the dollhouse he and Mary had bought her for Christmas the year before. It’s a surprisingly painful sight.

“Can I join you?”

Rosie turns towards him. “Yes!” She beams.

John grimaces a little as he gets down on the floor. “I have to talk to you about something, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” She’s already engrossed in the dolls again, and John is struck with an idea.

He takes the remaining dolls (he knows from experience that asking Rosie to give up the ones she’s already claimed will only end in tears, possibly on both sides) and pauses, trying to plan how he’s going to explain this incredibly fucked up situation.

“Rosie, you and I are going to be living somewhere else now.” It wasn’t what he planned on starting with, but he figures it’s best to rip the metaphorical band-aid off sooner than later.

“Can I take my dolls with me?”

“Of course,” John tells her, puzzled by her indifference to the situation. Then again, she is only three.

“Where are we going?” It’s only now that she stops playing and gives him her full attention.

John looks at her for a long moment. She’s beautiful. Her hair color matches his own (well, before he went grey), but it has a gorgeous curl to it. He and Mary have the same eye color, but he likes to think Rosie has her mother’s eyes.

“We’re going to go stay with Uncle Sherlock,” he says when he comes back to himself.

Her eyes light up and she breaks into a dazzling smile. After a moment, though, she frowns. “Mummy’s not coming?”

John takes a deep breath. “No sweetheart. Mummy and Daddy aren’t going to be together anymore. We both love you very much, but we’ve decided that you and I are going to live with Uncle Sherlock while Mummy stays here.”

He braces himself for her to cry or argue or react in _some_ way, and he’s startled when she only shrugs her shoulders and says “Okay, Daddy.”

John Watson realizes, not for the first time, that he is a very lucky man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking through these months without updates! Please leave a comment and...
> 
> DFTBA darlings, :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment if you like, and...
> 
> DFTBA darlings, :)


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